


Beleaguerment

by DriftingGlass



Series: The Afterschool Library Chronicle [2]
Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Aged-Up Gon Freecs, Aged-Up Gon Freecs/Killua Zoldyck, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst and Humor, Coming of Age, Developing Relationship, Drama, Eventual Romance, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gon Being Flirty, High School, Homosexuality, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Killua Being Oblivious, Killua Tutors Gon, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Gon Freecss, Romance, Slow Burn, Tutoring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-16 17:28:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10576041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DriftingGlass/pseuds/DriftingGlass
Summary: [ Beleaguerment - "a prolonged surrounding of an objective by hostile troops." ]“Are you okay? You’ve been acting kind of… odd, today.” He sounds hesitant, distant, as if he’s been mulling over these words for quite some time.Killua hums a tune to himself, smirking, though the guilt builds inside him in a devastating flurry. “Why so concerned all of a sudden?"'Don’t ask any more questions. Please. Just drop it. Just drop it and ask me something else. Anything else.'- in which Killua is responsible for tutoring Gon, and both are oblivious idiots. Told in parts. -





	1. Implications

The boy had defied all of her initial expectations as soon as he entered her office.

Alphabetized documents slipped into color-coded folders were messily sprawled across her desk. A single potted plant swallowed up shadows in the lone corner of the office, right below a single four-paneled window with broken blinds blocking out the faintest sliver of sunlight.

Birds chirped beyond the glass barrier, though hardly loud enough to register past her booming headphones. She had exactly twelve pencils and six ballpoint pens organized in her drawer, each utensil separated by crumpled gold foil balls—former sleeves for savory caramel chocolates she kept secret from her boss.

She didn’t even look up from her notes, penning in just one of dozens of names she’d recalled from delinquents escorted off school grounds. The door to her office opened, the familiar bell chiming as if she was a barista in some casual coffee shop, and yet still, she did not even glance up once from her work.

“You wanted to see me?”

This. That voice. It grabbed her attention instantly, setting off a stream of alarm signals in her brain.

Dr. Krueger glanced up from her documents, large, glassy eyes blinking to adjust to the image of a very young child—a boy, already staring at the hardwood floors as if recognizing some verdict declaring his all-knowing guilt to the world. He was wearing a mustard-yellow hoodie, the drawstrings uneven, his basketball shorts much too long for him and barely sweeping above his knees. His skin is startlingly pale, like smoothened chalk, and his eyes—

His eyes gave her pause. She leaned back in her chair, studying the striking cerulean gaze. Well, they would’ve been striking, if not for the distilled layer of fog—a mist concealing an array of secrets she longed to find—swimming through his irises. His hair is seashell white, tinged with silver and as cloudy as one would expect from the child of the Zoldyck bloodline.

His skateboard was clutched protectively beneath one arm, his sneakers completely demolished and slathered in mud. His hands were bandaged, his chin, cheekbones and left eye swollen a deep, fresh purple.

“Take a seat, Killua,” she said, a little more cautiously. She’d seen this child before. Twelve years old. Often spent time in isolation. She had expectations of a wild sort, someone who prowled school grounds with nothing but malicious intent stored up his cotton sleeves. The occasional baseball cap he wore did little to improve the stereotypical image she caught herself shamefully applying to him on occasion.

“I thought you counseled for the high school only,” said Killua, barely above a whisper. He obeyed her without question, setting aside his skateboard, placing his hands in his pockets and plopping down across from her.

His shoulders were tense. She could see the shivers trailing up and down his spine, the bobbing of his Adam’s apple betraying any sense of calmness he was desperately trying to convey.

 _Hm. A time bomb ready to explode. But where’s the fuse?_ Bisky dipped her head despite herself, counting off one of a dozen possible scenarios circulating through her mind.

“I drift between campuses from time to time. Besides, I heard from the principal that this was a very special case.” Bisky smirked at the slight roll of the child’s eyes. She was wondering when he would crack and show some essence of his attitude. “Killua, I heard you got into a fight. Would you like to talk more about that?”

He raised an eyebrow at her. For a second, she wondered if he would snort and brush it off, maybe even deny that anything happened, even with the gnarly cuts, bruises and gashes littering his skin. He glanced towards her, shrugged, and crossed his arms behind his head. He turned his attention to the ceiling, as if counting the tiles.

“Mm, I wouldn’t call it a fight,” he said simply, “I just stood in the way.”

Bisky frowned. _Interesting._ “You stood in the way?”

His lips twitched, followed by a nod. He seemed unsure.

“What do you mean by that?” she continued.

He scratched his cheek.

“Jordan was being an asshole to Canary.”

“Language,” said Bisky, though she felt her tongue recoil at her own criticism. Killua seemed taken aback by this as well, his jaw shutting tightly. “And?” 

Killua’s brow furrowed. “Isn’t it your job to, you know, protect the students, or something like that?”

Bisky clicked her pen on her desk, resisting a snort. “Protecting the students is our first priority. As a counselor, I’m well-aware of the protocol that applies to my fellow employees about this. You should know better than to think that I do not care about the protection of the students.” She sighed, drawing her finger down the document—Killua’s file. “So, what happened with Canary and Jordan?”

Killua’s scowl deepened. “She wasn’t doing anything. He just…” He trailed off.

Bisky lifted her head from the document. Sweat beaded on the young boy’s temples. She straightened, her composure softening slightly. “Do you feel unsafe talking to me about this, Killua?”

He whipped back towards her, his eyes perfectly vacant for one crystal moment. Just one.

But it was enough.

“No,” he said, rather suddenly. His fingers were curled into his shorts. She noticed the tiniest trembles in his body, quaking his skin and bones like isolated earthquakes. “I don’t care. The other kids don’t pick on me. They just leave me alone. But Canary—she didn’t do anything.”

This grabbed her attention.

She’d counseled hundreds of children, each one more troubled than the last. Though, none of them quite interested her as much as the young boy forced to sit cooperatively in front of her at this very moment.

The situation that occurred during recess period triggered the presumed assault of a young, kind girl named Canary who never provoked other students. Killua was often on his lonesome, staying as far away from others as possible, though she’d always wondered what would happen if someone purposefully bothered him. If someone took that extra step and scratched the surface of his skateboard, or yanked off his baseball cap, or pulled him to the ground…

She’d expected him to be angry, like the spoiled brat he was. His attitude was ridiculous towards his teachers when given the chance. His grades were, ironically, immaculate—in the top five of his class, as if these subjects came easily to him. She wondered why a brain so clearly intelligent and forthright would be so outrageously barricading against the educational system. Haverforth Middle School never seemed to find the balance necessary to appease the Zoldyck child, though she hadn’t expected to glimpse over a perfect attendance record, startlingly high IQ test scores, and experience a wry, natural wit he exuded during conversation.

“Do you know why Jordan attacked Canary?”

Killua shifted. She noted the continuous straining in his neck, the clenching of his teeth behind pursed, desperately thinned lips. He was trying to protect something. Someone.

“No.” He rolled his eyes. “He just wanted to hurt her. And I wouldn’t let him.”

His voice dropped into a stream of cold, frigid stone. He meant every word. 

His frosty eyes narrowed into a glare. “Can I go now?”

Bisky smirked. _That’s pure, unbridled loyalty, right there. Who is this girl to you, Zoldyck boy?_ “Well, no, you can’t. But, you’ll be able to go soon. I’ll also be seeing Jordan and Canary after you to get their sides of the story. This type of altercation is an unusual one, for sure.” _No witnesses. No one turning themselves in._ “We’ll pick up on this later, Killua. I’ll have to give your parents a phone call and let them know what happened.”

He brushed this off, snorting. “Whatever. My mom will freak out, like normal. My pops won’t care.”

Bisky frowned. “I’m sure your father will care. They always do.” She grinned crookedly at the odd look Killua gave her, asking for an explanation, though the stubborn urges inside of her told her not to abide by his demands. He was still spoiled, whether or not he impressed her. “You can go, now. We will pick this up more later.”

“’Kay,” he said, his movements practically mechanical as he stood up from his chair, reached to grab his skateboard leaning against the wall, and motioned towards the door. He opened it, his hands pausing just slightly on the doorknob and his form halfway through the door, when he turned to glance back towards Bisky.

She blinked at this. “Is there something else you wanted to say?”

She didn’t expect to see him suddenly turn uncomfortable once more. The bruises on the surface of his flesh seemed much less prominent to whatever else happened beneath the surface. She wasn’t sure what it was about his disposition that set her mind on fire, flickering with potential images of danger, of strife and mischief, but they were there, and they were _real_.

His knuckles turned even whiter from how tightly he gripped the doorknob. He released the breath he was holding, and those eyes brimmed as ferociously as any churning ocean in winter when he finally locked eyes with her once again.

“Don’t mention Canary. When you talk to my parents.”

Bisky was dragged out of her stupor at the request—no, _demand_ —of the Zoldyck child. “Excuse me? You’re in no position to be making demands—”

“ _Please_.”

She held her tongue, shocked.

He remained where he was, like a statue with heels permanently driven into the earth. He was a powerful presence when he wanted to be, apparently. She had never seen him interact with anyone with such intensity before.

“You _can’t_ mention Canary. At all. They’ll—,” he hesitated, swallowing, “never mind. Just don’t. For her. Not for me.”

And he was gone, leaving Dr. Bisky Krueger, for the first time in what felt like eons in her career as a child psychologist and counselor, utterly speechless.

* * *

 

**... Five Years Later ...**

* * *

“So what’s eating ya, kid?”

Gon’s eyelashes nearly flutter with the speed of moth wings at how startled he is at the question. He gulps, swallowing back the embarrassed groan, reading through the seemingly endless list of names that apparently count off many of his former favorite breakfast options. Pancakes, sausages, ridiculously fancy veggie omelets, old-fashioned oatmeal, fruit and yogurt parfaits drizzled in caramel for some strange reason—

“ _Hey, Gon_! Seriously. What’s up? Is there someone at school bothering you? I’ll go kick their ass!”

He sighs, closing the menu and acknowledging his friend with a sheepish smile. “Sorry, Leorio. I’ve been really distracted lately, I guess.” _Not completely my fault. But still._

Leorio Paladiknight—tall, built like the true cross-country swimmer he’s well-known for and college freshman at Yorknew University—raises one skeptical eyebrow and scrutinizes Gon with a glare smothered in ice. Yet, beneath that layer of ice lies an affection and whirlpool of understanding that Gon has always understood, even before they became friends over the summer of Gon’s freshman year where he worked part-time at the local hospital, cleaning after patients and learning more about the field of environmental science.

“Eh, you’re just never this… down, I guess,” says Leorio. He raises the bowl-sized coffee mug to his lips, steam wafting in gentle currents. “Also, I’ve ordered pancakes, sausages and an omelet, and you _still_ haven’t gotten anything. That’s clearly not normal, either.”

Gon smiles broadly, shrugging. “I’ll just eat later!”

“Eh, Gon, that erases the point of coming to a place to get food!”

“But you love this place!”

“True. No one has argued that. Regardless,” Leorio begins, straightening out his collar, “have you thought more about colleges? Are you still getting help from that one tutor?”

Gon’s concerns suddenly take a backseat to the image of a willowy teenager with starlight hair and alabaster skin, lips curving into the slightest, most secretive of smiles.

He blinks, muttering, “Yeah. You could say that.”

Leorio nods, stabbing a stack of sausages with ferocious intent. “Is it some teacher at your school or something? You know I could ask to give you some hours at the hospital by Yorknew U., you know. They’re always looking for volunteers.” He shrugs. “Especially since, you know, you’ve talked about being interested in environmental science.”

Gon clicks his tongue, pondering. “Eh, well, I’m not getting help from another teacher, exactly…”

Leorio shovels his food into his mouth, chewing as if he’d never taken a bite of anything in his life. Gon watches him in slight fascination, suppressing an enormous, amused grin.

“Leorio, you’re going to choke—”

“Nwonsenth!” Leorio grinned, meat flecking his teeth.

Gon laughs, and it’s a sound that comforts his older friend. “I actually invited him today! He’s not usually this late, though…”

Leorio blinks owlishly and quickly swallows his mouthful. “Wait, what? You invited your tutor here? Gon, that’s a little _weird_ , don’t you think? Are you hanging around some weird sixty-year-old man outside of school? That could be a huge alarm signal for you, buddy—”

“Leorio!” Gon laughs, shaking his head. “No, no, he’s my age! We get along really well. We’re pretty good friends, actually. I just wanted you to meet him and stuff because I think you’d get along great! And if all three of us hung out in the future, that would be really cool.”

Leorio snorts. “Well, if I approve of him…”

Gon stares. “Leorio…”

“What? Gotta make sure my protégé is staying away from hooligans!”

“He’s not a hooligan…”

He suppresses another smile, another sensation of warmth rippling through his body. He still didn’t quite understand the genuine bursts of happiness and comfort he experienced whenever he happened to spend time with Killua Zoldyck, though the mystery behind it was part of what drove him to pursue their friendship further.

“Is that him?” Leorio flicks his fork towards the door of the restaurant. Gon follows his stare, and nearly bursts out of his chair with rapidly waving arms.

Gon is so used to seeing Killua in his uniform that he finds it slightly surprising that the fellow high schooler is donned in a long-sleeved navy blue shirt, with stonewashed jeans, busted sneakers, a light sheen of sweat glistening on his skin, and a complimentary skateboard tucked beneath one arm. He’s glancing around him, speaking to one of the waitresses with a curious glint in his sterling eyes.

“Looks like a hooligan to me,” says Leorio.

Gon grins. “Nah. He looks cu—,” he stops, biting his tongue and shaking his head. Where did that come from?

Killua is over at their table before he can gather his jumbled thoughts together, and it becomes even more frazzled with how close the other male is. Killua smells like spearmint and cucumbers, mixed with an odd array of bark dust and sweat from the outside world.

“Yo,” says Killua, and he blinks toward Leorio. “…”

Gon jumps up and frantically points toward Leorio. “Right! Um, Killua, this is Leorio! He’s one of my closest friends! We’ve known each other since my freshman year, and he goes to Yorknew University just a couple hours away.”

Killua has not even glanced towards Gon yet. He and Leorio are locked in a silent stare-down.

“Yep. That’s me, Leorio Paladiknight.” At least Leorio has the decency to stand up and gradually shake Killua’s hand, though the other teenager seems automatically stiff at the action.

“Killua.”

Gon scoots aside, and Killua slowly takes this gesture into consideration, acknowledging Leorio’s presence with a furrowed brow. Eventually, he sets aside his skateboard, kicks one leg half-crossed over the other, and leans his chin into the upturned palm of his hand. There’s something oddly strange about the way he’s moving, about how stiff his arms and legs shift, and how quiet he is.

Leorio is suddenly quiet, as well. An unreadable conversation is brewing between the older man and Gon’s tutor, both of which shifting in their dispositions, reacting in ways that he certainly had not expected to happen on this particular Saturday morning.

“So,” says Leorio, breaking the tension, “you’re Gon’s tutor?”

Killua shrugs. “Apparently I’ve been promoted to ‘friend’ status recently, but yeah.” He then smirks mischievously, eyes shining like that of a feline’s. “How old are you, even? Like, forty-nine?”

Leorio’s cheeks become enflamed and he snarls with the rage of a bull. “What was that, you little punk?! I’m barely older than you are! Freshman in college—”

“Last time I checked, there’re plenty of older students. Are you discriminating against those old househusbands and last-minute intellectuals who want second chances?”

They banter back and forth for minutes, and Gon isn’t entirely sure how to react to their conversation. He smiles slightly at reading the dissolving tension on his friend’s shoulders and the whimsical anger Leorio is expressing like flames in a fireplace. The air between them has changed significantly, but he’s not sure if he can ignore the curiosity stemming from his own thoughts.

 _Why_ , he thinks, especially at the almost pained tightening he witnesses in Killua’s jaw, _does it feel like they’re both keeping a secret?_

* * *

“Hey, Killua.”

Killua turns on his heel, kicking his skateboard up into his arms. He winces at the impact of the tip of his skateboard against the slight grazing of his ribcage—a swollen mark, barely visible to the naked eye, is concealed underneath the woolen cloth that makes up the long-sleeved shirt he’s decided to wear today.

“Yeah?” he asks, carefully keeping his voice level, despite his gritted teeth and swollen knuckles.

He keeps his stride even, his heart hammering against his chest, desperately tight and fleeting, as if anyone discovering what he’s attempting to hide would become open almost immediately.

He knows Gon is a few yards behind him, probably staring intently into the cracks in the sidewalk like he has been over the last few days. He’d hardly been able to look him in the eye since he stepped foot inside the restaurant, where even the comforting aroma of strawberry pancakes and cinnamon rolls couldn’t drag him out of his daydreams.

“Are you okay? You’ve been acting kind of… odd, today.” He sounds hesitant, distant, as if he’s been mulling over these words for quite some time.

Killua hums a tune to himself, smirking, though the guilt builds inside him in a devastating flurry. “Why so concerned all of a sudden?” _Don’t ask any more questions. Please. Just drop it. Just drop it and ask me something else. Anything else._

He perks up at the sight of familiar sloping patterns and hills of cement. He hears the distinctive rolling wheels, the cursing and pops of bubblegum, the cheering of competition cascading over the slopes…

“Gon, over there! We have to check it out.” _Just look. Be distracted. This will be good. A nice diversion._

He turns to Gon, and his smile falters at the clearly concerned expression contorting his friend’s features. Gon’s eyes have darkened, his hands gripping the straps of his backpack with great fervency. He follows Killua’s gestures to the cement slopes, and blinks in surprise.

“A skate park?”

“Yeah. It’s been ages since I’ve been to one. Let’s go! I can show you some moves.” Killua’s smirk returns, and he playfully nudges Gon. The action surprises the other, but the smile that lights up his friend’s features is all the more welcoming. “It’ll be cool.”

“Well, if you really want to,” says Gon, but his eyes are brimming with curiosity. He wants to check out exactly what kind of competitive atmosphere is associated with skating. Killua has known Gon long enough now to recognize those glances from him, the many variations of his stares, glares and moments of daydreaming.

“Obviously. Now come on!”

* * *

This skate park, in particular, is much smaller than most of the parks Killua had seen in his early childhood. When his parents drifted from one city to another conducting business, he often snuck off on his own with his skateboard close to his side, searching for the most difficult slopes, paths and groups of competitive people who would challenge him and his familiarity with such a hobby. He had always hated losing, and he would not be surprised if some of those habits personally came from his temporary fascination and addiction to skateboarding.

Skateboarding had been his release, his escape into the world of isolation away from the outstretched hands of his family. At first.

Teenagers and younger children protected in plastic kneecaps and helmets sweep up and down the skateboarding slopes with ease. The grinding of the wheels along the cement and stone comes off as a rather surreal sound, something almost chilling to the bone for the Zoldyck.

He inhales and grins broadly. “This, Gon, is where the fun is. Man, it’s been _too_ long.”

Gon scans the vicinity, his mouth forming an ‘O’ in admiration. “It’s so _big_!”

“Hah, this is nothing,” says Killua, eyes glittering with mirth. “I’ve seen bigger from where I used to live—,” he stops, biting his tongue at Gon’s curious look. “A-Anyway, yeah, I’ve seen bigger and better. I’ve been the best skater in all of those other places, of course.”

“Wow, Killua,” says Gon, “you really are pretty incredible.” He chuckles once Killua, predictably, turns slightly scarlet at these words. “C’mon, Killua. Show me how to skate.”

The Zoldyck blinks, staring at the other with a quirked eyebrow. “You’ve never skated before?”

Gon shakes his head. “Nope. I’ve seen people do it. I’ve just never been interested, I guess.”

“Huh.” Killua shrugs. “It’s not for everyone. But, yeah, I can try to show you. Come on. We should get to the bottom level and find some smoother ground.”

By the time they jog down the stairs to the bottom level of the hollow, Killua is able to drink in just how large the slopes seem, especially with the amount of space they have. Several teenagers whisper to each other at his presence, though he’s no longer in the mindset to care.

 _They don’t matter right now. Just ignore them._ He bristles, and ignores it to the best of his abilities. Beside him, Gon stiffens, but flashes him a reassuring, toothy smile, and an impatience that tells Killua exactly why he’s so eager to be taught how to skate—he wants to challenge him as soon as he learns how.

Getting Gon to challenge Killua at certain tasks has been the primary reason tutoring him has been so unique. He’s tutored others before, though none of them ever inquired about his personal life, or even dared ask for certain reasons why he acted the way he did. They often attempted to weasel out of the situation and ignore their homework altogether, though Gon, the starry-eyed athlete that he was, often found himself pitted against Killua in competitive situations that would prompt him to solve certain problems instinctively.

Gon was, to the lack of credit from his teachers, perfectly competent and intelligent in his own right. He was terrible with math and he would rather burn his copies of the periodic table than go over them constantly with Killua pulling him back to focus each time, but he was gifted in a myriad of ways.

It was almost a shame that he was stereotyped to be a typical jock.

“Hey, Gon!”

Killua freezes. He recognizes the voice, but not distinctly enough to realize that there are other people in the vicinity who know who they are. He hasn’t been seen outside of school with Gon unless it was about homework; their outings together were usually incredibly casual and consisted of (forcing) conversation over chemistry and algebraic formulae.

Gon puts on his best smile and waves. “Hey, guys!”

Killua represses a snort. _Of course._ He should have expected the skate park would attract other students from school. Gon was so popular that it was difficult to tell if anyone he talked to was actually not considered a friend, given how friendly he naturally was. His sparkling smiles and genuine questions about everyone’s days won him many broken hearts and dropped confessions.

But he certainly did not expect to see half of the basketball team here, each one switched out of their uniforms and donning some form of skating outfit that brings Killua back to his childhood. He remembers donning baseball caps and hoodies on a regular basis until school uniforms possessed his wardrobe like a leeching ghost, and now he’s promptly reminded of how times have certainly changed the typical appearance of most skaters.

He can feel the fresh bruises on his flesh pulse, as if in response to the newcomers. He watches Gon jog over to his friends and high-five them, talking in a brief circle as if nothing transpired out of the ordinary.

He instantly feels exposed. Unwanted. Trapped in the middle of an open space.

“Hey, Killua! I want you to meet some of my teammates!”

Gon’s smile is so broad and so charming Killua can hardly resist saying no.

He swallows and cautiously approaches them, though none of them seem particularly excited to see him. They are all much taller and broader than he is, though their muscular capacity is much closer to Gon’s than they would ever be with Killua’s lithe, yet slender and toned frame. They scrutinize him, scanning him from head to toe, and his chest feels as if it’s going to pop open like a brutally disfigured can of worms.

“Killua, huh.”

Killua turns to one particular teen who stands taller than the others. He instantly doesn’t like him. The crooked grin, the mop of unruly tarnished bronze hair, the hoop earring and drawstring sweatshirt printed with a giant skull on the front instantly paint a certain image in Killua’s mind. He’s already not fond of this potential asshole, and he’s not keen on being too friendly.

Then again, they were Gon’s teammates and friends, weren’t they? Perhaps they were worth trusting.

“Yeah. And you are?” Killua asks, feigning boredom with a casual kick of his skateboard into the space under his arms. The basketball players seem a bit surprised at his casual behavior, but he chooses not to address it, or the pain reverberating from the bruise he accidentally touched.

He’s glad Gon hasn’t noticed it yet. That one college student—Leorio—noticed something was wrong with him the moment they made eye contact. He had told him to stay silent with simply one look, and the intensity that spurred between them was almost palpable.

He could trust Leorio Paladiknight with silence about his hidden wounds. Somehow. But if these jocks had an inkling of an idea…

One jock with abnormally stringy auburn hair grins like a maniac and laughs. “Hey, Gon, you should stick around and just hang with us. Aren’t you bored of getting tutored and shit?”

Gon stares at him with narrowed eyes. “I’m not bored, Yanno. Killua’s my friend.”

“I bet,” says Yanno, rolling his eyes.

“We’re just killing time skating ‘round here. Didn’t think we’d bump into you, buddy,” says Hoop Earring (since Killua doesn’t give two shits about his name), and he nudges Gon slightly. “If you want, you guys can both hang with us. We’re all here to skate anyway, right?”

Killua reels back, genuinely surprised. _Huh._ He eyes Hoop Earring with a risen eyebrow. _What’s your game?_

Gon blinks and turns to Killua. “Only if Killua wants to.”

Killua sputters, his cheeks tinting a deep rose-pink. Gon laughs at this, especially at the incredibly angry and embarrassed stare his friend is shooting towards him.

“G-Gon, you stupid, idiot—”

“Well, what do you say, _Killua_?”

Killua turns back towards Hoop Earring, expecting to see some malicious intent in those dark mahogany eyes. However, he sees something else, swimming behind gleaming irises in a realm of utter secrecy. He’s not sure what it is, or how to pinpoint it, but the urges bother him all the same.

The incredible urge to stand the fuck up and prove something powers over his usual aloofness. One instinct over the other, and it will soon become a battlefield.

“Sure. Let’s skate,” he says. Gon lifts an eyebrow at him.

“Killua, we don’t have to—”

“Cool, it’s settled, then,” says Hoop Earring, and with a quick slap on Killua’s shoulders, his smirk slightly widens. “Name’s Asher, by the way.”


	2. An Unsure Development

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asher decides he's going to stake a foothold in the dynamic between Killua and Gon. Or, at least try to...

The sound of her bones cracking like static rocks reverberates through his skull in a jumbled rhythm. His heart slaps against his ribcage like a battering ram, every word prepared to leave his tongue suddenly recoiling and lodging in his throat, the key firmly locked and stored away without another flutter of an eyelash. The cement peels beneath the soles of his shoes and the smell of the little girl’s perfume floods his nostrils—he recognizes the scent; expensive, something floral and vanilla. Perhaps his mother wears the same scent.

Asher finally finds his voice, and shakes his head. There’s nothing more he can say. His friend—the reckless brute of an adolescent with tattooed arms and a baseball cap turned backwards with a fire-breathing dragon on the lip—turns back towards him, eyes wild and golden and burning.

“J-Jordan, why did you…” He stutters, unable to process what’s happened. Jordan barely snorts, jerking his head back to the little girl, whose skin shines in the hot sun like the rippling surface of cold brew coffee, her braids woven through with pink and blue ribbons. Signs of innocence. Of a time before her lips were bruised purple and a giant welt was forming in the side of her temple.

Their classmates have stopped to watch. Most are not sure what’s transpired, why Jordan would be so reckless and ruthless to a practically helpless, much smaller girl. Her frail limbs and calm disposition never broke out of the surface of silence that enveloped them all so vehemently. Asher steps back, avoiding the stricken, glassy gaze of the girl, and guilt swells inside his chest when he realizes, oddly enough, he has no idea what her name is. He wants to tell her that he’s sorry for what Jordan has done to her, but nothing leaves him. Nothing builds inside his mind other than the repeated apologies he knows he has no right to give—

“Yo.”

Jordan reels back, shaking uncontrollably, a fresh spatter of the girl’s blood caking his bruised and flesh-curled knuckles. He glances around him, to the other students so much smaller and lithe in frame than he is, and the fire in his eyes turns sharper. Deadlier. Asher’s not quite sure he’s ever seen him react this way before, and it was to _nothing_.

It clicks in his mind that it wasn’t him who opened his mouth to dare speak to the temporary raging monster on school grounds. He pivots on his heel, to the one kid he’s always written off as a delinquent—all the while ignoring the steady beating of his heart and the turning of his stomach at the familiar shock of silver-white hair, the calm, serene cerulean eyes—and again, cannot speak. He never knows what to say to the other students who don’t know who he is, who don’t respect his status in the bullshit hierarchy Jordan has paraded around his shoulders since the first day he arrived.

“What do you want, _freak_?” Jordan’s voice is hollow. Drained. A shadow of its former self.

Asher stares between the newcomer and Jordan, just as unsure. Just as impatient. What will transpire here, with the two friction-laden students head to head? He’s never seen the Zoldyck student go out of his way to interact with the rest of the student body. He lingered like a shadow, pale as the moon and as quiet as spring water.

Jordan blinks when the Zoldyck doesn’t even acknowledge him. He saunters by him at a snail’s pace, his hands firmly placed in his pockets, his skateboard clutched under his arm, as he keeps his head low in his approach to the little girl pushed to the ground. He kneels down to her level, and whispers something to her, possibly ignoring the frigid intensity burning into the back of his skull from none other than the brute who attacked the girl in the first place.

“Canary,” says the Zoldyck, and to Asher’s surprise it sounds… not bored at all. It’s gentler. Kinder. The boy’s eyes has softened, and his breath hitches when those eyes momentarily turn to him, as if in acknowledgement, but those depths strike him in lightning waves. The girl shakes her head and tugs on the boy’s sleeve, though he quickly loses interest in Asher, standing back up and pivoting his heels in front of the girl. She stands up, trembling, but her whispered pleas never seem to reach his ears. The look on his face is blank, yet tense.

The air turns palpable with friction.

Asher swallows. Enough is enough. He has to say something, before the person he once considered his friend would lose himself on another spree. “J-Jordan, come on, man, don’t be stupid. The teachers will—”

“If you touch Canary again, you’ll regret it.”

Silence.

Canary shakes her head, grabbing the boy’s sleeve and tugging, though ironically, she’s a few inches taller than him. The strength he exudes and the odd confidence the girl probably hides in her sleeves are interesting contrasts in their own right.

“K-Killua, you can’t—”

“Stop, Canary. If it makes you feel any better I’m not saying all of this just for you.” The words are bitter and icy, yet intense and honest. They cut through the quiet like glass shards.

Asher’s jaw drops.

Jordan snorts. “What the hell? Are you serious? Why are you defending _her_? She’s just a freak, like the rest of you who look like her. Who _are_ like her.” He snorts, runs his eyes up and down Canary’s frame, and she stiffens beside Killua. Killua, in response, remains calm in his stance, yet his arms visibly shift, as if a single movement will end in Jordan’s broken nose. “You’re stupid for messing with me, _Zoldyck_. You don’t have a chance.”

A growl—low and threatening—escapes Killua’s throat. His teeth are gritted and he’s clearly holding onto the last threads of patience he has in order to not lash out at the other boy.

“I want to break your stupid jaw for hurting her,” says Killua, breathing slowly. In. Out.

Asher’s hypnotized the entire time, processing each word as if they’re the last he’ll hear. He’s not sure what’s bewitched him, or why any of this has happened. Canary didn’t even do anything—Jordan had stepped on her foot, leading to her protest, and in a flash he tackled her to the ground and _thwacked_ her across the mouth. The blood that welled from her lips and bubbled down her chin and the tears pricking the corners of her eyes screamed _success_ to his apparently sick-minded companion.

“Oh yeah?” Jordan is absorbed in the challenge. He steps forward, standing much taller than Killua Zoldyck, much stronger and faster and physically a tower by comparison. “Acting all tough, freak? You can’t do anything about it. No one likes you, you know. You’re just _cursed_ , and no one wants you here.” He spits on Killua’s shoes. The white-haired boy doesn’t even blink. He would appear disinterested if not for the faintest blue ember in his eyes, clearly directed towards Jordan, towards the wounds on Canary’s pretty face. “No one _will like you_. Not even _her_.”

Asher’s fists clench. “Jordan, seriously, it’s not worth this! Cut it out—”

And then, Jordan rears back his fist, and slams it into Killua’s jaw. There’s a brief gasp of shock and horror from Canary, a scattering of dust and tufts of grass and dirt flying in the air on impact, and a subtle cracking of bones that is much louder, much stronger, much _worse_ than the punch he gave Canary.

But Killua doesn’t fall. He hardly budges, having been knocked back a few inches, his heels driving further into the ground, his fists still shoved into his pockets. He rolls his neck, the bones cracking in a different way this time, and his eyes are absolutely _livid_ when he turns back to Jordan. For the first time, his lips quirk, a sinister, startling grin overtaking his features—it is as frightening as it is thrilling. Asher isn’t sure on whether he feels more terrified or more exhilarated at seeing such an expression.

“Good,” says Killua, much too casually, and for a brief second, Jordan’s entire body pales to the shade of chalk. He’s realized his mistake too late. “Now I don’t have to hold back.”

Asher dashes off to find the nearest teacher as soon as he sees Killua snap.

* * *

**... Four Years Later ...**

* * *

_I remember_ , thinks Asher, as he observes Killua end a flawless flip over the tip of the railing with his skateboard, _that he protected that girl. Canary, or something like that._ He calmly takes a cigarette pack from his trouser pocket and brings out a lighter from the opposite one, surveying the concrete slopes and idiot friends converse about attractive girls in their grade and Gon’s inability to remain committed to practice times.

“Hey, Asher!” Gon trots over to him, his smile a bit more forced. A bit tighter. Asher holds back an amused grin at this.

“What’s up?” Asher casually puffs on the end of his cigarette. His eyes follow Killua as the white-haired teenager kicks his skateboard up to clutch it firmly beneath one arm, looking as bored as he ever as. _Really hasn’t changed. Huh._

Gon studies him closely. “… Are you friends with Killua?”

Asher blinks. Slowly. “The hell, Freecss?”

“Well I’m just curious,” says Gon with a shrug, though the slightest, thinnest twinge of darkness that dances in his cinnamon eyes tell Asher differently. “You seem to know him, or something. You keep looking at him and asking him how his moves work, and I don’t know but I think you’re making him uncomfortable. Just, you know, a thought.”

Asher almost laughs. He’s never seen Gon like this, so tense and defensive for no particular reason. He’s known him for years, stretching back all the way to middle school; eighth grade, more specifically, when Gon transferred into the program with a particular knack for athletics and having a passion for just being a part of a team in some way. His surprising temper and stubborn streak had affected all of them, bringing a sense of vibrancy and fire to the court when it was least-expected.

He’s always been fine fist-bumping after practice and grabbing smoothies over weekends when they were all free. He always harped on his vagabond dad and how he’d never even once sent him a birthday card but he was still determined to meet him. Gon Freecss was always unpredictable in a certain way, despite his simplicity and his casual ambitions. His toothy smiles and freckled features and oh-too-big heart were magnets for girls—they fawned over him, adored him all the way down to his tacky laser-bolt sneakers.

To see him so hostile was still refreshingly new.

 _I wonder…_ Asher shrugs. “You guys are friends, right? I mean, I recognize him from elementary and middle school. Before you transferred in.”

Gon reels back, nodding. “Ah.”

“Yep.”

Gon scratches his cheek, shifting in his shoes.

“Did he tell you that?” Asher suddenly pipes, and he’s surprised at his own question. Gon turns to him with a risen eyebrow, uncharacteristically quiet. “You know, that he’s uncomfortable. Did he tell you that or are you just putting words in his mouth?”

Gon’s shoulders straighten at this, and whatever he’s about to say dies on his lips, because Killua comes over to them with a broad, elated smile slapped onto his features.

Asher’s stomach flips. _Shit._

“Oi, why did you guys stop? The slopes are perfect!”

His eyes are alive. Sparkling. Asher can’t help but compare them to the startling glare of anger and bitterness from all those years ago.

Gon is turned away from Asher, completely forgetting he’s there at all, and his body has turned much more relaxed and comfortable in the presence of his friend. He sticks out his tongue and scratches the back of his head, grinning ear-to-ear like some lovesick fool—

 _Holy shit, Perretti_ , Asher thinks, shaking his head, _calm the fuck down. What’s wrong with you?_

“Sorry Killua. Just wanted to talk to Asher for a bit.” Gon chuckles. “It’s getting kind of late though. Maybe we should head back and, um…” he trails off, and beams with an idea. “My paper, right? There’s still that biology paper you always bother me about!”

Killua’s eyes bolt wide to the size of dinner saucers, and his jaw slacks. “ _Wha—_ Gon! Seriously? Today? Come on, Freecss. You can’t be serious.”

“But _Killua_ —”

“You want to do homework _today_? Wait,” Killua then stops, the wheels in his mind turning to an abrupt stop. He quirks an eyebrow, and places his hands on his hips, unconvinced. “You _never_ want to actually do your homework. Ever.”

“Well, today I do, I guess." 

“… Are you sick or something—”

“ _Killua_!”

Asher snorts. _Smooth, Gon. Smooth._ “It’s all good. You guys should go. This guy can’t flunk his classes, otherwise he’ll be barred from the team.” He slaps Gon’s back, and the other stiffens, yet grins broadly at the gesture. “But, yeah, anyway,” he turns back to Killua. The other teen glances at him, and that same shade of disinterest returns, and a complete lack of recognition. “Gon, you should bring Killua around more. He’s fun to hang out with.”

And he _winks_.

Two things happen, both of which he’s unsure about. Gon’s jaw slightly tenses, his smile ultimately forced and his brow slightly twitching, but perhaps even he is unsure where his anger is coming from. Killua turns away quickly, laughing it off, though his neck and cheeks are tinging a ferocious rose-pink.

“Yeah, we’ll see,” says Killua, nudging Gon. “Let’s get out of here, then.”

Gon nods in agreement and turns to Asher, his grin remaining. “Bye! I’ll see you guys at practice tomorrow.”

“Eight o’clock, Freecss!” He locks eyes with Killua, who rapidly turns away and immediately begins to trail off after his friend. Asher, before he can even stop his own irrational impulses, reaches out and snatches Killua’s arm.

The Zoldyck pauses, turning back towards him. Silent.

 _Be cool. Be cool._ Asher clears his throat. “I’m game to hang out too. Without Gon breathing down your neck, you know.” He releases Killua’s wrist, the other boy blinking in utter surprise. “Don’t be a stranger, Zoldyck.”

The shock that registers upon Killua’s normally controlled and static expressions almost makes Asher laugh in utter amusement and surprise. He seems so much younger, a reflection of the laidback kid kicking his legs up on his desk and scowling at his teachers in middle school, his baseball cap covering the extravagant winter locks that he always thought looked so soft and snowy.

Killua barely responds, simply nodding his head one time and bolting off after Gon. Gon, expectantly, is watching Asher like a hawk, and he knows that he’ll have to tread carefully.

 _Whatever_ , he thinks, shrugging, _it’s not like he has a claim on him._

* * *

  **… Tuesday Night …**

* * *

 

Killua’s thumbs roll over his watch, gazing out the window to his bedroom. Past the flickering, broken blinds and the stacks of books he’s kept pristine and straight-spined despite the consistent brushing of his fingers over the pages and the marks of his ballpoint pens scouring the annotated lines. He keeps his back straight against the blank walls, surveying the almost dungeon-like quality to his surroundings with little acknowledgement given to his blue sweatshirt and oversized basketball shorts.

These shorts aren’t even his. He’s not sure if he accidentally packed Gon’s clothes in his backpack at one point or what, but these certainly don’t belong to anyone in his household.

He grinds his teeth, glancing over the three different arrangements of homework splayed out in front of him. The timer on his nightstand informs him that it’s far past ten—his mother will scream into his ear for the thousandth time since Sunday that he’s always going to bed too late. He can’t catch up to his normal workload if he bothers sleeping in, and his grades have always been nothing short of reachably perfect. Sometimes unreachably perfect as well.

Illumi would be the one to thank for that, he supposed.

His pencil tip snaps off. Irritation seeps into his temples. His cell phone’s screen lights up and buzzes next to his lap, temporarily grabbing his attention. His brow furrows at the unfamiliar number, the mystery lingering behind the screen creeping in his subconscious like ants on a gravel hill.

 _Not Gon, for once._ He rolls his eyes. Part of him wishes Gon had sent him a text message, just to distract him from his own ridiculous amount of homework and rant about something random. Last time Gon texted him it was about the reproductive cycles of dolphins and killer whales. Whenever it came to animals, his friend wouldn’t shut up. Ever.

He grins slightly at the thought. He leans back onto his bed, sets aside his pencil, and crosses his arms behind his head. He stares up at his ceiling, pondering.

 _What does he do when he’s not getting tutored?_ He snorts. _Wow. Weird much, Killua?_ He sighs at his own thoughts, picking up his cell phone and unlocking the touchscreen.

**[ Unidentified Number ]**

  * _Hey! It’s Asher. :) Got your number from Canary. Text back if you wanna chat!_



Killua bolts up, blinking in confusion at the message. He reads it a dozen times, unsure if it’s a legitimate message, or if it’s anything worth acknowledging at all. He’s never received a text message from someone else at school, and there was no way Canary gave Asher his number… she would’ve asked him first. And how would he even know Canary?

 _Why is he even bothering?_ He sets down his phone, scrutinizing the screen with an intensity he’s not sure he can even pinpoint. He groans and rubs his forehead, a headache developing in the base of his skull. _So… weird._

No one liked him at school. No one respected him. They feared him for rumors that sprouted once he arrived at Haverforth Middle School with his mother and father leading the way to the principal’s office, completely unsure of what was about to come his way once those doors opened. Not once did he consider himself proud of his experiences or even happy about them. Not once did he enjoy a single person’s company there, other than Canary. And she was enrolled there just to watch over him, to protect him, which was needless and stupid. And it always put her in harm’s way.

So why was this weird teammate of Gon’s so determined to reach out to him? He’d looked at him with such fervency at the skate park, nearly bashing into him a couple times and somehow colliding his skateboard with his on one occasion. When he’d fallen, the taller teen managed to grab his arm and hoist him back up, his smile crooked and friendly, and oddly familiar. Maybe he’s seen him somewhere before, but whatever it was or how it happened, Gon never liked talking about him.

Gon, oddly enough, with how social and popular he was, never enjoyed talking about his teammates. The basketball team weren’t likable in any aspect on first impressions, and none of them bothered speaking to Killua or acknowledging him as a human being at all.

No one, except Asher. He was mildly annoyed when the other basketball player tried talking to him when he was showing Gon a new maneuver with his skateboard, and he’d admitted to his friend that being at the skate park for too long would soon make him uncomfortable, and he’d wanted to leave for a good while after initially competing with the other dunderheads. Frankly, he wasn’t impressed by any of them. Gon was a terrible skater, and that was fine with him, considering he loved winning over nearly every other aspect of his life.

Afterwards, Gon had quickly moved from talking about sports of any kind to suddenly becoming extremely fascinated with the properties of alleles and binomial properties. Chemistry and biology, out of absolutely nowhere, possessed his mindset and geared their conversation from that point onward, and in that moment, Killua knew he had to steer Gon away.

 _Fuck_. He groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. He winces, glaring down at the bruises marring his skin—splotches of purplish green blossoming on his forearms. Some fresh. Some new.

His cell phone lights up again.

**[ Gon Freecss ]**

  * _KILLUA! R u awake?_



Laughter bubbles up Killua’s chest. He bites his tongue and glances at his door, half-paranoid his parents or Illumi would walk by to hear him make any noise, and picks up his phone. He types a response, then quickly shuts off the screen, sighing. 

  * _Yeah I’m awake, dunderhead. Who goes to bed before ten?_



Then, his cell phone buzzes. With a snort and a roll of his eyes—and the steady growth in his heart rate he can’t exactly explain—he picks up his phone, unlocks it, and presses it to his ear without even glancing at it.

“Oi, Gon, what’s up—”

 _“Hah, that’s funny_.”

Killua blinks, his mouth running dry. _What the fuck?_

_“Hey, Killua? You there? Sorry, it’s me, Asher. Not Gon. Sorry to disappoint.”_

Killua swallows. _Hang up. Hang up. Hang up._ “Yeah, uh. I can tell.” _Hang. Up!_

_“So, glad you picked up, actually. I’m grabbing burgers with the guys. Wanna come?”_

Killua almost laughs. _You’ve got to be kidding me._ He snorts. “At ten o’clock?”

_“Hey, it’s never too late for a shake and McDonald’s! So what do ya say? I can come pick you up, you know.”_

Uncertainty grips Killua’s chest. He thinks about Gon, pondering. “’S Gon there?”

There’s a pause. He hears rustling in the background, counting in the back of his mind until the voice returns, much less strained and far clearer than before.

_“Eh, Gon left after practice. The rest of us stayed behind. Said he had things he wanted to take care of. What, you guys together or something?”_

Killua chokes, coughing and spluttering. Heat rises to his cheeks and a thousand defenses build up in his gut, churning up a storm he thought he would never have to think about. In an instant, he pictures Gon and his stupid smiling face, hears his infectious laughter, listens to him chattering incessantly about anything in particular that would never matter outside of their tutoring sessions—

His face is on fire. He splutters and shakes his head, gulping as he brings the phone back up to his mouth and nearly _bellows_.

“N-No! Obviously not! The hell gave you that idea?!”

Then, Asher laughs. It’s not condescending or angry, just amused. Killua snorts once more and sits back in his controlled passion, crossing one leg over the other.

_“So, you’re single?”_

Killua’s not sure why, but he panics, and ends the call right there. He sits back on his comforter, scrutinizes his phone, and promptly ponders over the idea of tossing the electronic device out the window and moving out of the neighborhood.

 _Me? Dating Gon?_ He shakes his head. _Stupid._

Still, he can hardly sleep that night, because the idea, no matter how stupid it is, circulates like a broken record in his mind and refuses to leave him be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading Part 2 of this series! Part 3 will be up soon! THANK YOU ESPECIALLY to everyone who left kudos and comments below! Very much appreciated, you lovely peeps. :)

**Author's Note:**

> I really enjoyed writing this one.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who read "Pedagogy"! And I hope you enjoyed this addition to the series! Part 2 for this will be up soon!


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